Nightminds
by tromana
Summary: Death is not the first person you'd expect to meet in a bar. Patrick Jane centric. Mentalist/Discworld crossover.


**Title: **Nightminds  
><strong>Author: <strong>tromana  
><strong>Rating: <strong>T  
><strong>Characters: <strong>Jane, Death  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Death is not the first person you'd expect to meet in a bar.  
><strong>Spoilers: <strong>None, set pre-season one.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>My mind works in very strange ways. The Mentalist/Discworld crossover. Written for the Paint it Red ficathon. Prompt: "Every man dies - not every man really lives." (William Ross Wallace), from Miss Peg.

**Nightminds**

The place is a dive. Not Patrick Jane's usual choice of bar.

A man of money, a man of influence, he wouldn't be seen dead somewhere like this.

Except for tonight.

Tonight, his family died. He should be with them, of course he should. If he hadn't been blind sighted by fame, fortune, his self-obsession, then maybe he would be.

Or equally, maybe _they_ wouldn't be dead.

Excepting the bartender, who is seemingly wiping the same glass over and over with a filthy rag, there is one other patron in this place.

The skinny sort, swathed entirely in black. Jane wouldn't have noticed him, had it not been for the flash of white and the sudden disappearance of some tequila.

Wordlessly, the bartender refills it and a slight incline of the head implies that his customer is satisfied with the distraction.

Jane doesn't know why he's here. He certainly didn't aim to be; he must have wandered off the beaten track. Still, he can't complain. It's shelter from the biting wind and even though the décor leaves a lot to be desired, the place could be worse. It could be packed, for a start. With people who want to talk, want to socialize.

And he wants to do anything but.

He takes a seat and indicates with a finger that he'd quite like a drink. As expected, the bartender fills a shot with the same amber liquid as the other man's. Jane doesn't argue. What's the point? What is there left to live for? He has nothing left and it's his fault.

It's always his fault.

There's a bowl of peanuts in front of him. Jane isn't hungry; he has no desire to sustain his body. Not knowing he hasn't got a wife to return home to. Not after seeing his beautiful baby girl cut up like a lamb taken to the slaughter.

A rat, however, is. Clearly, the bartender doesn't care what health and safety has to say about the place. If an inspector walked through the door at that very moment, he'd close it down in an instant.

Saying that, it probably wouldn't be that much of a loss for Sacramento.

SQUEAK!

Jane pauses, watches the rat some more. Clearly, there's something not quite right, not quite _normal_ about it.

Besides, it actually said 'squeak', the word. Rather than a noise that is infantilized for the benefit of children, along with adults who didn't want to think too long (or hard) about an apt description.

I APOLOGIZE.

The voice cuts through Jane like a knife. The harmonics practically grate with his very soul. It's uncomfortable, but he doesn't care. It's the very least he deserves after what he did today.

I DID TRY TO TELL HIM NOT TO COME, the other man continues.

Eventually, Jane turns to look at the other customer. He doesn't seem the sort to randomly strike up conversation. It was half the reason why he'd decided to sit down in the first place, rather than continue looking for a more appropriate place to stay. Somehow, his eyes cannot focus. He can't blame it on the drink, not yet. Two shots is hardly enough to send somebody completely off the rails. Something is making him avert his gaze; it's almost as if he doesn't _want_ to see the man standing before him.

He doesn't like that. Of course he doesn't. Patrick Jane is the famed psychic, he's never had problems reading a subject before, so why start now?

Unless, of course, it's the grief that's playing up. Swallowing up his abilities as some kind of repayment for causing the death of his family.

That would be appropriate, of course.

"My wife and daughter died today," Jane offers, not even sure why he feels the need to tell a virtual stranger.

I KNOW.

"How? It hasn't even hit the news yet," Jane snaps back, tipping the tequila down his throat readily. "I should be with them."

IT ISN'T YOUR TIME.

"How can you say that? How do you even _know_?"

LET US JUST SAY, YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE WITH GIFTS, MR. JANE.

"Oh really?"

YES. YOU HAVE MUCH MORE LEFT TO LIVE FOR. I ADVISE YOU DO NOT THROW THIS SECOND CHANCE AWAY.

xxx

Death, or rather, the anthropomorphic personification of death on Discworld, watches as Patrick Jane leaves the bar in disgust. He knows what's going to happen to him. After all, he didn't lie as he physically cannot. Besides, he_ is_ blessed with gifts; he can see the entirety of time, if he so chooses.

It just happens that, more often than not, he chooses to investigate the lives of human beings. After a long period of time working with them, it's only natural that you become fascinated by their idiosyncrasies. And sometimes, though the Discworld is a fascinating place, it's nice to set yourself a different challenge. Roundworld provides that. And for an evening, Mr. Jane has provided an ideal distraction from the routine of his normal job. Death can see what is going to happen to him. He's going to attempt to commit suicide, to land himself in a mental institution.

After, well, that's his choice. It can go one of several ways. Death knows which way he hopes it'll go. For someone who death is a normal part of life, he is an eternal optimist. However, he knows for certain that regardless of the path Mr. Jane chooses, that a serial killer nicknamed Red John will remain inextricably linked to him.

I AM NOT SURE HOW MUCH OF THAT CONVERSATION HE WILL REMEMBER, Death states.

SQUEAK!

INDEED. ROUNDWORLD INHABITANTS TEND TO HAVE A MUCH MORE LIMITED VIEW OF THE WORLD.

SQUEAK! SQU-EEEAK, the Death of Rats implores

I THINK THIS EXCURSION HAS GONE ON LONG ENOUGH, Death says to nobody in particular. NO, YOU CANNOT TAKE THE PEANUTS WITH YOU.

And with that, they return to their own Universe. To the Discworld. They have more than enough work to be going on with there, without worrying about the inhabitants of Roundworld.

end


End file.
